


Do you miss me, Gavin?

by Andromaca



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Connor gets deactivated in this lads, Gavin Reed-centric, Hand Jobs, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Masturbation, chapter 2 is just smut, it’s not pretty and gavin cries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-29
Updated: 2018-09-02
Packaged: 2019-07-04 08:06:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15837189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Andromaca/pseuds/Andromaca
Summary: “I’ve been dreaming about this since the first second I saw you…”It’s exhilarating. It’s not exactly common occurrence for Gavin to aim a gun at one of his most hated coworkers. He could shoot Connor, and then pretend hehadto. Self defence or whatever. There’s a riot going on anyway, Gavin is pretty sure that if he plays his cards right, he can get away with it.In which Gavin has a crush.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> self indulgent sad stuff because today is my birthday and i will not be told what to do
> 
> at first i was going for something more smutty-funny then halfway through i changed my mind and made it sad/bad? i dont know. take this anyway

It gets progressively harder for Gavin to focus on his paperwork without zoning out every two seconds when he’s sitting at his desk at the precinct and Connor is working a mere few feet from him every single _damn_ day.

It’s distracting, really, how pretty CyberLife has made him. There is no reason for an android made to hunt down deviants to have big doe eyes, to have a rebellious curl of hair falling down on his forehead so tempting, yet there he is. Reaching with long fingers to where Hank Anderson’s old iPod lies discarded on his desk to put it in his jacket pocket before leaving, and Gavin would sigh like a schoolgirl with a crush if he wasn’t a man in his thirties who also happens to hate androids. Life is really that ironic sometimes; Gavin Reed would have never, ever thought he’d get the hots for a plastic piece of junk.

“Goodnight, Detective Reed,” Connor says politely, and Gavin wonders if it was really necessary for him to have a voice this smooth, if it’s something designed to make deviants more complying or if it’s just some perverse intern exhausting their sexual frustration on the androids they design.

Gavin doesn’t reply, and buries his nose further in the documents sitting in front of him, work welcome to him for once for getting him out of a yet another embarrassing situation he’d rather avoid.

 _Thanks a lot, Elijah Kamski_ , Gavin thinks as he finally turns the key in his apartment’s door lock and steps in, _for making my life a living hell_.

Not only does Gavin work at the worst possible place on Earth (he’d realised that too late. He had loved the idea of the Detroit Police Department when he was a child growing up in the city, listening to stories of promising policemen solving cases and bringing safety to the city; it wasn’t like that, now that he gets to see for himself what really goes down behind the curtain the media doesn’t dare to peep behind), not only does he have to work with the worst possible people on Earth (fucking Hank Anderson and fucking Jeffrey Fowler, Gavin would take them on in a fight any day of the week. Not that he’d try unprompted; he might hate his job, but he needs the money), Elijah Kamski himself put the cherry on top of all that when he designed the first android and Gavin ended up, sixteen years later, with one right by his side at any given time when at his workplace.

It sucks. Big time.

Mostly because once he gets home, he has absolutely nothing to distract his hands from wandering where they shouldn’t, his mind from thinking of things it shouldn’t. Every day, as he sits on the sofa in front of the TV, one of Gavin’s traitorous hands snakes in-between his legs as his equally treacherous mind thinks of pretty brown eyes and plush pink lips belonging to a certain android he knows well.

He can’t help it, really, he paints his hand white with his own come at the thought of shoving his cock into any pliant hole Connor has to offer; his mouth is preferred in his fantasies, because that way Gavin imagines he’d shut him up. 

Would Connor spread himself for Gavin to take? Would he resist? Gavin languidly strokes himself to the thought of parting Connor’s long legs and settling himself between them.

How many holes _does_ Connor have? Gavin likes to think he has a pretty pink cock he can tug at to effectively make Connor squirm and scream in pleasure, but the thought of him dripping with pleasure is equally as appealing, if the twitch in Gavin’s hand is anything to go by.

Every day, Gavin rinses off what remains of his alone time from his hands and stomach, and stands in front of the mirror, tempted to punch his reflection’s face in.

Yeah. It sucks.

* * *

Connor, Gavin finds out sooner rather than later, is a tease. Involuntarily so perhaps, yet the sentiment stands.

Gavin can’t help staring, really, at the way Connor’s mouth takes his fingers when they’re at a crime scene. Never mind they’re bloody with the remains of another android, never mind he doesn’t wash his hands after; Gavin still has the way his tongue darts out a little bit when he analyses whatever fluid he’s picked up burned in the back of his eyelids, the scene replaying endlessly at the back of his brain even when he’s decided that’s _disgusting_ , because that’s the furthest thing from normal human behaviour ever and who knows what the inside of Connor’s mouth is like. Probably dirty as the junk yard they throw broken android corpses in. Probably wired with _absolutely not sexy_ sensors made to render his policeman job easier. Not that Gavin wouldn’t like a chance to find out for himself.

He still settles for the equilibrium they’re in.

Gavin has never considered himself to be daring, romantically speaking; he’s brash and bold, but he doesn’t do dates and asking people out. Relationships come to him by the natural flow of events. He doesn’t _confess_. That’s for teenagers in love to do.

Connor is not a deviant. He doesn’t know what love is.

Pity.

* * *

“I’ve been dreaming about this since the first second I saw you…”

It’s exhilarating. It’s not exactly common occurrence for Gavin to aim a gun at one of his most hated coworkers. He could shoot Connor, and then pretend he _had_ to. Self defence or whatever. There’s a riot going on anyway, Gavin is pretty sure that if he plays his cards right, he can get away with it.

It’s not that he’s _just saying_ that. He’s dreamt of shoving the barrel of his gun against the side of Connor’s head, he’s dreamt of blue covering his hands. He’s dreamt of that for so long, Gavin figures it’s been going on since he first saw him. Since he heard Connor say he could interrogate the suspect.

_Show off._

It would be so easy to pull the trigger on Connor before he even so much as turns around, before he can even utter a word. It would be so easy to put an end to the the multitude of feelings unraveling in Gavin’s brain. It would be easy to get rid of Connor. But Gavin doesn’t. He waits for the android to speak up, he gives him one last chance before his finger inevitably pulls the trigger.

It just so happens that Gavin’s mind is already made up.

“Don’t do it, Gavin,” Connor speaks like Gavin holding a gun to his back isn’t a real threat, merely an annoying setback in whatever plan he has. His LED doesn’t even flicker. “I know how to stop the deviants.”

“You’re off the case. And now, it’s gonna be definitive,” is all of Gavin’s warning to Connor before he fires the first shot.

Gavin’s not proud to say it doesn’t take Connor long to knock him out cold.

* * *

“What is going to happen to me?”

“You’ve become obsolete. You’ll be _deactivated_.”

* * *

When Gavin sits at his desk again, it’s two days after the incident. Two days after being found unconscious on the floor of the evidence room. Because two days is plenty of time to “rest, and take it easy” like the doctor at the hospital ordered him to do.

The first thing he notices upon arriving at the station, aside from the alarming lack of paperwork sitting askew on his desk, is the vacant seat across from Anderson’s. Connor doesn’t _run late_ , he’s an android. He’s made to be perfect. Being tardy is imperfect. Gavin figures there has to be a reason he’s not sitting in front of his partner, talking about whatever it is that they usually talk about.

The reason behind that probably has to do with the _thing_ sitting patiently in Fowler’s office. The _thing_ being an android almost identical to Connor, but sporting different clothes and a different model number. The _thing_ being Gavin’s new partner, apparently.

Gavin wants to cry. He wants to curl up into a ball and cry. Cry until there’s no tears left in him. Lay on the floor until his bones ache.

He doesn’t.

He sits at his desk and diligently goes through his day without paying the brand new tin man following his every step any mind.

Under any other circumstances, Gavin would snap. He would punch RK900’s — yeah, that’s his name, because “CyberLife did not give me a name, as it is not necessary to me to have one,” the prick — face in and tell him to stop acting like an overbearing parent. Under any other circumstances, Connor hasn’t been deactivated.

Gavin doesn’t fight the urge to punch the wall of his bedroom in. He doesn’t fight the urge to lay down on his bed and cry until his head hurts. He’s far from judging eyes, he’s got no façade to keep.

* * *

In his nightmares, Gavin sometimes walks in the interrogation room.

Chris tries to get the deviant to stand up. “Leave me alone.”

_The fuck are you doing?_

“You shouldn’t touch it. It’ll self destruct if it feels threatened.”

Connor keeps intervening, he keeps pushing Gavin, he keeps trying to get Chris to stop touching the android.

“I warned you, motherfucker.”

This time, Gavin gives neither Connor nor Hank a chance to speak.

Gavin shoots Connor, and his lifeless body lies limp on the interrogation table.

* * *

The night Gavin has his first breakdown on the workplace, it’s the night RK900 has Gavin’s wrist pinned behind his back, and Gavin’s face is pressed to the cold wall of the evidence room.

The bright lights hurt Gavin’s watery eyes, but he can’t bring himself to care about any stimulus outside of RK900’s chin pressed to his temple — _what the hell is he so much taller than me for_ — and the entirety of his body pressed to Gavin’s back.

“Get off, plastic,” Gavin says, and he’s trying, really, to kick RK900’s legs away. They don’t budge.

RK900 speaks calmly in Gavin’s ear, the way he would in any context outside of this one, his voice ever so flat and devoid of any real emotion. “Snap out of it, Detective Reed,” he says, and Gavin’s kicking his legs again, “You’re acting childish.”

_You don’t tell me what to do._

Gavin would tell him.

He doesn’t.

He goes limp in RK900’s grip and against the wall instead.

Eventually, RK900 relents. He steps back a little, and looks down at Gavin. Gavin, who’s massaging his wrist. Gavin, who’s now lost every bit of the bite he previously had.

“I know your weakness,” RK900 says simply, “Don’t make me use it against you.”

* * *

Damaging one of your sleeves is one thing. Deactivating an android is an entirely different matter.

Gavin grieves every night. He kicks at the blankets that pool at the foot of his bed and tosses around so often there is no “cooler side” of the mattress anymore. He downs the glass of water on his nightstand.

Does it matter, does it make a difference? Connor’s gone, and Gavin should be thankful. Shouldn’t he? With any luck, if RK900 fails his mission as well, perhaps _android detectives_ won’t be a thing CyberLife attempts at again.

Connor’s gone.

Should Gavin lose sleep over his absence?

* * *

RK900 dragging Gavin to the evidence room is hardly uncommon occurrence. They’re detectives, and as such they go over the evidence for their cases from time to time.

Gavin doesn’t need to pay close attention to tell that _this_ occurrence in particular isn’t work related. RK900 doesn’t mention any of their ongoing cases, and the way his white hand swipes across the terminal tells him he’s hacking it.

 _Whatever_.

Maybe they’ll have some fun on the workplace, for a change.

Gavin’s knees buckle a little when the wall of evidence is revealed.

“The Detroit Police Department kept it,” RK900 explains as Gavin gets close to stroke one of _Connor’s_ cheeks, “This body in particular was part of a past investigation. The department never returned him to CyberLife.”

Gavin doesn’t believe his ears. _This cannot be real_.

“Unfortunately, he’s beyond the point of reactivation. Carlos Ortiz’s HK400’s shot was fatal.”

When RK900 speaks again, it’s far from his usual speech pattern. His voice is softer, his tone more playful, in a way.

He talks like Connor, now.

“Do you miss me, Gavin?”

_Damn, yes, I do._

“Show me just how much.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ hi i need to be loved ](http://twitter.com/cuteroboboy)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there. never ask me for anything ever again
> 
> sorry. i don’t know how to write smut lol

It takes a lot for Gavin’s composure not to waver, when he wiggles against RK900’s body and he catches a glimpse of brown eyes.

  
_How?_

  
“Gavin,” Connor – no, RK900 – says, pushing his front against Gavin’s back, “Gavin, I miss you so much.”

  
Gavin can’t help it if his eyes ignore the body behind him to focus on the one in front of him. He can’t help it if he raises a hand, and if it shakes a little as a voice whispers in his ear, “Touch me, Gavin.”

  
He can’t, right?

  
_He’s dead._

  
“Am I, Gavin?” RK900 laughs as his hand goes to cover Gavin’s own, raising it to the bullet hole in the middle of Connor’s forehead, “Or am I just a _broken machine_?”

  
Gavin doesn’t resist the impulse to run his fingers across Connor’s face, skirting around the wound on his head. He knows that when RK900’s hand guides his index finger inside the hole it should feel wrong, he should feel disgusted and retract his hand immediately, but he doesn’t.

  
He doesn’t.

  
That’s fucked up, isn’t it? Gavin can’t help the blood rush he gets from RK900’s chuckle when his finger comes out perfectly clean.

  
“Is that a corpse, or is that just a bundle of rusted wires and dried up thirium?”

  
Gavin’s throat feels constricted; he doesn’t speak, for fear of words not coming out correctly.

  
He reaches around to where RK900’s left hand rests on his hip instead, and drags it to where the hem of his hoodie partly covers his jeans, and he feels just a little bitter when he pushes it up and RK900 snakes his hand inside his boxers.

  
That can’t be right, can it? He shouldn’t get aroused to fingering the bullet hole in the middle of Connor’s head.

  
He does anyway.

  
“They’re planning to throw me out tomorrow,” RK900 says, and his hand makes a fist around Gavin.

  
_Throw him out? Just like that?_

  
“Some of my biocomponents might still be useful, but other than that,” RK900 speaks close to Gavin’s ear, so close Gavin can feel RK900’s lips moving, “I’m nothing but a carcass.”

  
Gavin moans. That’s what you do when you feel good, right? Gavin feels _amazing_. Granted, he fists his hands in the front of Connor’s pristine shirt and he feels the icy cold body underneath, and for him to lay his forehead against Connor’s own is a little messed up. But he feels good, and he thrusts into RK900’s hand.

  
_Good_.

  
That’s the word for how he’s feeling. So _good_ , he cries. He wets Connor’s face with his tears, he cries so hard RK900 stifles his sobs with his free hand. “That’s it, Gavin,” RK900 says, uncharacteristically gently, “Cry for me, Gavin.”

  
_A bundle of rusted wires and dried up thirium?_

  
Gavin shakes in RK900’s hold. He moans and throws his hand on Connor’s cheek, he strokes it, and then opens one of Connor’s eyes. Brown.

  
_I’m sorry, Connor._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes, i know androids can’t change their eye color. do i care? hell nah


End file.
